


Wednesday Of Hell

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-17 02:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: Spooky didn't even begin to cover it.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	Wednesday Of Hell

Spooky didn't even begin to cover it. The gate moaned as he pushed it open, stepping onto the path leading to the front door. Gravel gave under his shoes and he took note to tread carefully, ankle deep in thick mist. Something growled in the distance, hidden behind the hedge of rose bushes, lush but flowerless. The moon chose that moment to peek through the clouds, casting a silver glow upon the door to the old mansion. Half of the windows were boarded up, shutters on the other half, held on to their last hinges, as if their very lives depended on it, as if falling down was a fate much worse than rotting along with the rest of the house. Owls hooted somewhere in the murk beyond the house and cold wind sent a shiver down Mulder's spine.   
"This is ridiculous." He mumbled under his breath and the growl became louder. "I don't have time for this crap."   
He lifted the collar of his coat against the cold and strode purposefully to the door. The knocker was a cast iron ring set in the mouth of a gargoyle. Hello Bill, Mulder thought and waited, listening to the echo bouncing around the house. A second later a man in a Stetson hat answered and Mulder's jaw landed on the steps and his hand on the grip of his gun.   
"Easy there, cowboy," Lucious Hartwell drawled, grinning his buck-toothed grin, "you don't want to find out which one of us is faster on the draw."   
"What's this?" Said a female voice, perfectly calm.   
"Nothing, darlin'," he said over his shoulder, "just bumped into an old friend, that's all."   
"Ma'am, stand back," Mulder said, cautiously, "you don't know what that thing is."   
"Thing?" Hartwell's eyebrows shot up.   
"Ma'am?" The voice came closer now, pulling the door open wide and revealing a young woman. "Who are you?"   
"This is Agent Mulder, with the FBI," the vampire said leaning on the door frame, "one-man stake and pitchfork brigade."   
"My partner and I were attacked!" Mulder bristled, "as was the coroner. Not to mention the two men who died!"   
"I see your priorities are still as they were last time we met," the vampire grinned, "how's the good Agent Scully doing?"   
"What's it to you?"   
"Maybe I would pay her a visit."   
The snap on Mulder’s holster popped and Hartwell laughed warmly. "Relax Agent Mulder, you're safe from me and mine, as is your friend." Then he turned and smiled at the girl, leaning in for a kiss. "I'll see you later?"   
"Perhaps." She said, but gave back the kiss in kind, before addressing Mulder. "Put down the gun, Agent Mulder, I don't appreciate threats against my friends on my own land."   
"Ma'am, he's a vampire."   
"Miss, Wednesday Addams," she corrected, gesturing him inside, "and I'm a witch."  
Something invisible brushed against Mulder's leg, pushing past him and leaving nothing but the sound of talons and wet paw prints on hardwood floor in its wake.   
"Come in, Agent Mulder," she said opening the door wider, "I already had dinner." 

Even barefoot, she was tall, tall and slim, but without a trace of fragility, like a steel rod set in concrete. She wore black leather pants and an oversized black sweater, the neckline hanging from one, pale shoulder. Straight, raven-black hair cascaded down her back, almost reaching her swaying hips. She looked like a deranged goth's wet dream, sharp and dangerous, and nothing about the image turned Mulder on, instead all his survival instincts went on high alert, atavistic reaction to the presence of a larger predator. Hartwell was a fluffy kitten compared to her.  
The woman walked through the foyer into a spacious living room. The rugs were thick and the blinds were drawn, but there was a fire in the hearth and wine on a small table next to a pair of high-winged chairs. She poured a glass and offered it, but he shook his head no, so she kept the drink, gesturing him to take a seat.  
"What brings you here, Agent Mulder?" She asked, sitting down and crossing her legs. Red nail polish on her toes caught the light from the fire, distracting him for a second.   
"You heard about the recent deaths in the area?"   
"As a rule, I don't get involved," she said, "I'm not the police."   
"But you have heard of them."   
"Everyone did," she said, taking a sip.  
"And in your professional opinion, could there be magic involved?"   
"Agent Mulder, I can't give you answers based on a couple of tabloid reports and local gossip, I'm not a clairvoyant, and I don't care enough to do the legwork for you. You can tell me what really happened at those crime scenes and I can tell you what I think about it."   
"How much will it cost me?"   
"Information is payment enough."   
"Right now, my partner is doing an autopsy of the second victim," he said, carefully weighing his words, "and I'm not supposed to share details of an ongoing investigation, but what if I told you, that the first one, the woman in her mid-twenties, appears to have died of a massive heart attack?"  
"I'd say it's unusual but not supernaturally so."  
"And what if I told you that the autopsy revealed that the heart was missing, though the body showed no evidence of violence?"   
That made her eyebrow twitch.   
"Did you find the heart?" Mulder nodded. "Where?"  
"Nine yards away, in the middle of a pentagram."  
"Pointing which way?"  
"The wrong way."   
"And the second victim?"  
"Same."   
"Where?"  
She didn't wait for him to answer, but got up and pulled a thick volume from one of the shelves that lined the long wall of the room. The book made a loud thump on the table and slipping one, red fingernail between the pages, she opened it to a map of the county. Mulder joined her and studying the map, noticed it was crossed with lines of various thicknesses and colors.   
"Around here," he tapped the map near a nexus of dark purple lines, "five miles out of town."   
"And the second one?"  
"Here," he pointed to the second crime scene, across town, exactly where another bunch of lines met. She moved his hand to the place where the lines met and gave the map another glance.   
"What do these lines represent?" Mulder asked.   
"Power," she said, not looking at him, "A primal force coursing through this planet, shared with stars and elements and all things, material and immaterial. A practitioner can tap into those lines, to draw upon that power."   
"And the crime scenes?"   
"A ritual is in progress, someone is drawing upon this force, to summon something that's far more powerful than they can control."   
"Two sites, you think there'll be more?"   
"Yes, one, most likely tomorrow night."  
"Halloween." Mulder said grimly.   
Without a word, Wednesday walked out of the room, just to be back a minute later, ready to go.  
"I need to see the bodies," she declared and headed for the door.   
Mulder rushed after her into the night. Scully’s not gonna believe this.


End file.
